I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?

Fra idag af vil jeg lægge en ny historie ud hver søndag.

I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?

“Fear is the nectar of life.” So it is said by a wise man that lived in a wise time, but he is all but forgotten by the modern world, and so is his wisdom. He knew the truth and he lived to preach it. He lived in time long before history books begin but after ancient myths ends, he lived in those years not remembered by anyone else than those who sought his wisdom in those ancient times. I was one of those young men who sought his wisdom for my own gain, and ended up far worse than I started. I sought his wisdom to make myself immortal, not because I wanted to live forever just because I was too afraid to die. Many people journeyed to find that man and hear his words, the words of a man they called a prophet. He is older than time, or so I was told, there was no telling what was true or not, he had been called a saint, a demon, a prophet, a fake, and many other things, but I like so many others left home to find him. I was not strong, og fast, or smart, or cunning when I left my home to tell you the truth. But I found him, on a deserted rock in the middle of the sea. This small rock held him no more than half a meter over the surface of the ocean in whose domain he had entered. I asked him why he sat on that lonely stone when so many people would gladly take him in their house and treat him like a king. He looked at me as I sat in a small boat besides the rock with mild interest, and then he said those words that would lead me to hell and back: “Fear is the Nectar of life. I fear water so I confront myself with water, only by confronting your fear can you control it.”
“I fear death” I said “can I learn to control that?”
“All things can be controlled.” He simply said “seek out death in the land to the east of here. Find a cave with beautiful blue walls and venture into it to find what you seek.”
And so I did what he said, for he had said it and thus it was the truth. When I came to that land it was raining as if the heavens tried to flood the earth. It took me 4 days to find the cave and even at that point the rain had not stopped. The walls was bright pale blue, never ha I seen such a color, so beautiful and as cold as a winter morning when the first ray of sunlight cuts across the clear sky. I walked deeper into the cave. It was like the blue walls emitted a gentle light, the light led me, guided me, seduced me, forced me deeper into the cave. I don’t know how long I walked through that cave, it felt like the gentle light of the walls sucked out all the meaning of time. After a long time I came to the end of the cave and in the corner sat an old man by himself. He looked like he was made out of flesh and bones, his hair was long and grey and his beard was so long it reached his feet. He looked up at me with eyes that was all but dried up and spoke with a weak dry voice: “Do you know what year it is son?” I told him what he wanted to know and looked down on his feet again. “Do you know how long I have been in this cave? 209 years. 209 years of solitude and hunger.” He went quiet again still looking at his feet. “You know, I came here looking for a life without death… and the cave gave it to me, I can’t die as long as I stay in this cave, but can this really be called living?” he asked himself barely aware that I was still there.
“But why don’t you leave then?” I asked him.
“Its not that easy is it? I have walked to the entrance and back hundreds of times but how can I take the step outside when I know it will be my last?” I was sure he was crying, but it seemed he had no more tears left. He was weak, that’s what I thought in my stupidity, I believed myself a greater man than him. So I picked him up, skin and bone as he was, and carried him through the cave. I talked kindly to him the whole way, told him of the wonders of the world and spoke to him as to a child, and the old man fell for it he was vowed by the tales of new greatness and wonders. All the way through the cave I carried him, kept him at good spirit and talked kindly to him and god how I hated him. I hated his voice, I hated his hair, I hated his skin, I hated his beard, but above all I hated his weakness. He had been given a gift of eternal life but he had never had the courage to live life eternally, he had just been sitting there seeing eternity pass by in front of him. So I sat him free, he took one step out of the cave and away from the blue walls and he pummeled to the ground, death had finally found him. As I stood there and watched him die I should have realized it, I should have left right then and there in hindsight that is properly what the prophet wanted me to do: to see the ugly face of immortality and then embrace mortality with love. But he was not aware of how deep my fear was and how arrogant I had become. I had found the prophet where so many had failed, I had found the cave that could keep death at bay and I would reap the benefits of being immortal. I left the cave to get furniture after a few days, and the following years I purchased books to entertain myself in my eternal life. But as my body got old I started to stay in the cave, I knew that the cave would keep me from dying and I would not risk my life to old age to get new books. I can tell you now that no anount of books can last eternally. After a few hundred years I started to fade, I became like the man I found in here I just sat in the corner, waiting for eternity to pass by. I had visitors in my cave that is true, but they were no more than visitor, none stayed more than 200 years and I talked to none of them, filthy scum trying to steal my cave!
I still sit in that cave to this day, l am looking for an answer to a question the same question that the old man had been wondering about all those years ago: do I really live? I mean: I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?